


Nothing is immortal

by Ladiama



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Lucifer learns what not hurting Sam means, M/M, Might be more than T later on, Season 7 rewrite, kind of a, when i learn how to write relationships
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-09-08
Updated: 2014-09-15
Packaged: 2018-02-16 16:33:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,142
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2276841
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ladiama/pseuds/Ladiama
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam had to admit that seeing Lucifer in his dreams hadn’t startled him nearly as much as it might have. He’d been seeing him for months now during his waking hours, frankly he was surprised he hadn’t shown up earlier.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I'm physically incapable of writing short stories. Not finished so not fully edited yet. Not beta'ed, if you'd like to beta it drop me a note it's much appreciated! 
> 
> *spoilers for season 7* (for anyone who has just discovered Supernatural, like me)
> 
> Enjoy, thanks for reading!

Sam had to admit that seeing Lucifer in his dreams hadn’t startled him nearly as much as it might have. He’d been seeing him for months now during his waking hours, frankly he was surprised he hadn’t showed up earlier. 

“Sam…” Lucifer started. Sam watched him warily from the corners of his eyes. Their surroundings were blurry shapes of light that kept shifting, like the dream couldn’t make up its mind about where to situate this. Sam supposed he should be grateful for that. 

The Devil looked almost surprised to be here. It must be a trick, Sam thought. He’d learned that as long as he ignored the hallucinations, everything was fine. They had no control over him. Now with this being a dream, it might be a bit harder. He didn’t have any physical sensations to hang onto. He would adapt though, and manage. And he would definitely not give in to Lucifer standing there looking like a beaten puppy. 

“Sam?” 

Sam was intently watching his feet, searching the dirt along the seams as if it contained the meaning of life. He had a faint sensation Lucifer was walking towards him; it was his dream, dammit, and that made him knowledgeable to everything that happened whether within his senses or not. The proximity ran a shudder up his spine. He _knew_ a hand was reaching for his shoulder. 

The hand stopped. 

“Sam… please.” Great, now _the_ _Devil_ sounded genuinely hurt. 

Despite his common sense screaming at him, Sam jerked around. “What?” He spat. “Haven’t you tormented me enough already?” He stared straight into Lucifer’s face, about ten inches away from his and looking very, very confused. 

Lucifer backed away. “I-“ 

“No – I don’t want to hear it. Get out!” Sam gestured violently at the surrounding area. “This is my dream, and I don’t want you in it!” 

To his astonishment, Lucifer vanished. 

* 

The next morning he kept his dream from Dean. Although the way Lucifer vanished at his command might be a sign that things were looking up, Dean never took too kindly to being reminded of his brother’s madness. Sam had to keep his small victory over Lucifer to himself. And if he seemed preoccupied during their hunt for a violent ghost teacher who left pencil sharpenings at the site of the killings, nobody noticed. 

“I’m exhausted,” was the last thing Dean said before passing out on the bed, mud covered and smelling of gasoline. Sam felt his own eyes droop too. The bed with its soft cushions called to his lead-filled limbs, but the fear of what he might encounter in his dreams prevented him from giving in. He opened his laptop to do some research on their latest enemy number one, the Leviathan. His history contained a couple of sites he hadn’t read yet. But after blearily staring at the screen for about ten minutes, not one snippet of writing actually making it into his brain, he decided he had to call it a day. In the background, Lucifer made a remark on the state of decomposition of the minty-green curtains. Almost absentmindedly, necessity having long since made it a habit, Sam pushed his thumb against the faint scar on his palm. He observed that he would soon have to find a new injury for this trick. The pain had faded from a sharp bite to a dull ache as the scar tissue had thickened. He would have to cut it open again to regain that edge. 

Cutting himself like a real emo-freak. Dean would laugh his head off if he found out, Sam thought wryly. 

He closed the screen, fighting the urge to lay his head down there and then on the invitingly warm laptop. Sam sighed and dragged himself to the bed. As soon as he snuggled his head into the comfortable pillow he was asleep. And nothing noteworthy happened in his dreams that night. 

* 

It wasn’t until an uneventful week later – well, uneventful in Winchester terms of course, just some salt-and-burns and a lone werewolf to deal with and no Leviathan in sight – that Sam saw Lucifer in his dreams again. He was standing on the fringe of a pleasant-looking field. Sam himself sat on a lone bench in the middle of the field, apparently placed there by a confused park architect or someone in a hurry to construct a dreamscape. 

“Sam,” Lucifer begun again from his position near the tree-line. He seemed ill at ease. “I’m not haunting you, please don’t banish me again.” 

This pulled Sam out of his very thorough inspection of the glaringly cloudless sky. He looked over at Lucifer, who fidgeted and had the gall to look guilty. 

“What do you want then?” 

“I want to talk to you,” Lucifer rubbed his fingers. “Make amends, I suppose.” 

“You tried to unleash the Apocalypse!” Sam blurted out, shoulders tensing. “You persecuted me, invaded my body and nearly made me murder my brother! You tortured my soul to shreds and I hallucinate you’re here thanks to that! You’ve passed ‘let’s fix this’ a long time ago.” 

Lucifer flinched visibly, but confusion and indignation also crept into his expression. He frowned, saying: “I never laid a finger on your soul. I defended you tooth and nail in the Pit, where Michael tried to take out all of his Daddy-complex related anger on you.” He sighed and walked slowly towards Sam. “I was weakened; the Cage and – you’re an aggressive fighter, Sam.” He smiled weakly, crouching in front of him. “The Cage is a horrible environment for a soul. I tried Sam, and I’m deeply sorry to hear it wasn’t enough.” Lucifer’s fingers brushed Sam’s knee. Sam jumped up, glaring at Lucifer for being so familiar. 

“You’re lying.” 

“How many times do I need to assure you, Sammy?” Lucifer asked, his fingers still hovering in the air. “I don’t lie. And even if I did, I would never lie to you.” He rose slowly to his feet. Sam backed away. “I don’t want to hurt you, Sam.” 

“You tried to destroy the world. You killed my friends, tried to kill my brother. How is that not hurting me?” 

Lucifer’s face distorted as if in pain. “I know that now.” He looked up into Sam’s face. “I am really very sorry. I had all this rage, concentrated on one goal. It’s not an excuse, but Hell didn’t make me sensitive to human feeling.” 

“And now you’re changed.” Sam felt bile rise in his throat. More of this nonsense and he would be violently sick, dream or not. 

“Yes.” Lucifer spread his arms, appeasing. “I realized my reasons were messed up. _You_ showed me that I didn’t have to conform to any Big Plans. Team free-will, count me in. I’m the Devil after all.” 

When Sam didn’t react, just staring at him in utter disbelief, he continued while rubbing his neck. 

“Michael was my reason to fight, we fueled each other like you and Dean, but he is effectively incapacitated. And I must admit I’ve become attached to humanity in the brief period I spend in your head and your company. It’s very lonely in the Cage without you.” 

They stared at each other for a while. Lucifer appeared to have said all he wanted to and seemed to be waiting for Sam’s outburst. But Sam sat down on the oddly-placed park bench. 

Lucifer sat down gingerly next to him. 

“Why are you suddenly so reasonable?” Sam asked with a little sigh. He had deflated a bit, shoulders hunched forward and staring straight ahead. 

“How do you mean?” Sam could see Lucifer staring at him from the corner of his eye. 

“Comparing to your never-ending onslaught during the day. You _are_ a figment of my mind, aren’t you?” The alternative was too frightening to consider. 

“I’m a…? No, I’m quite certain that I’m not. And I haven’t visited you but for that other dream you kicked me out of.” 

Sam grit his teeth and tried to calm his rapid breathing. 

“How did you get out of the Cage?” He asked in a small voice. 

“I didn’t. I can slip a bit of my grace through the cracks after the angel and Death damaged it by pulling you out. But it’s like barbed wire, it rips me apart.” Lucifer cautiously put a hand on Sam’s shoulder, who was on the verge of hyper-ventilating. “Sam, breathe. Talk to me.” 

“I’d like very much to wake up now, please,” Sam pleaded. Fear constricted his chest and clawed at his throat. 

* 

So Lucifer – the real Lucifer – could slip out of the Cage. It might only be a matter of time before he could slip out more than just a piece of his grace. And then… Sam didn’t bear to think about it. For all his talk of not wanting to hurt Sam and not desiring the Apocalypse anymore Lucifer still struck mortal fear in Sam – more so than Leviathan, Crowley and all the monsters in the world combined. 

He still hadn’t told Dean about it. During the day hallucination-Lucifer carried on making off-handed comments on Sam’s actions until he banished him. Sam pretended towards Dean that this was the only crazy going on. Of course he knew from experience what being dishonest with Dean led to, but he told himself he was only just digesting this news himself. He would tell Dean, eventually. Meanwhile, it distracted him and made his attention slip dangerously during hunts. 

“Dude, what’s wrong with you?” Dean asked, exasperated. They were standing ankle-deep in vampire goo. Sam tried rather awkwardly to clean his machete on his pants and keep his head as still as possible at the same time. Only ten minutes ago a vamp had sprung him out of nowhere – Sam swore he hadn’t been there a second ago – and flung him head first into a wall. His skull throbbed and hurt when he moved and he could feel bump the size of Canada swelling on his forehead. Dean’s intrusive questions did absolutely nothing to improve his mood. 

“Nothing,” Sam said with a casual air he hoped Dean didn’t see through immediately. He tried to shrug too but winced as a piercing pain shot through his shoulder. Damn vampires. 

Dean didn’t buy any of it. 

“You got your ass handed to you by a vamp today, Sammy!” He said. His face was set on storm-mode. 

“There’s nothing wrong. That vamp surprised me, that’s all.” Sam pinched the bridge of his nose, smearing more vampire remains over his face. He groaned. “Let’s head back, ok? We’re done.” 

Dean sulked the whole drive back to their latest abandoned house. He hit the brakes too hard at the traffic lights and made Sam wince every time he accelerated aggressively. Sam was relieved when Dean finally drove into the garage and he could stagger out of the Ford and towards his bed. Dean muttered something about “visiting Bobby” but Sam could only groan into the pillow and pass out. 

* 

“Not again,” Sam groaned when he saw his favorite fallen archangel standing at the center of what seemed to be a beautiful lush garden at the height of summer. The sun softly caressed his neck, the air was full of the sweet warm smells of the flowers and the buzz of happy bumble-bees. Lucifer held his arms out as if to welcome him into this perfect world. 

Sam almost gagged at the tooth-aching sweetness of it all. 

“You are hurt.” Lucifer slowly lowered his arms to his sides. His benign smile changed into a concerned frown. 

“Yes,” Sam spat. “You don’t think you can calmly march into my life again and expect me not to freak out?” He wished the flowers would stop smelling so alluring. He wanted to stomp his feet and throw a tantrum like a ten-year-old. Instead he settled for balling his fists and staring accusingly at Lucifer. 

“I am sorry I upset you,” Lucifer had the gall to say. “I thought I had made it clear I just wanted to see you.” He smiled. “You are still my favorite human being. I want to help you.” 

“Well, you’re not. Helping, I mean.” 

They had come to an impasse again; facing each other, Lucifer looked an image of good faith, Sam stood quietly seething. He was in conflict with himself – what if the Devil really wanted to help him? Shouldn’t he accept that help, even if Lucifer was unlikely to have good intentions, even if this was all another plan to seduce Sam into giving up his body as a vessel? Sam felt like trusting Lucifer and giving him a second chance, crazy as it may sound. This was probably exactly the kind of reasoning that had landed him in this mess in the first place. 

Sam decided there was no harm to be found in asking Lucifer some questions first. Talking never hurt, did it? He relaxed his posture slightly and asked: 

“How do we kill Leviathan?” 

Lucifer’s eyes widened. Sam wondered if this meant he wasn’t aware of the situation on earth – which also meant he wasn’t reading Sam’s mind, something Sam was sure he was capable of – or that he was surprised Sam had decided to accept help. 

“I don’t know,” Lucifer answered. “I’ve never fought one. Michael might have, but he would have had the back-up of the heavenly host.” His expression had considerably soured when he mentioned his brother’s name. 

“So you’re useless,” Sam concluded. That left a taste of disappointment in his mouth. 

“I might not be. Listen Sam, you could get me out of the Cage, and though I’m too weak to fight any Leviathan, I might at least be able to find sources that tell you how to go about it.” 

“No.” 

“You need my help though. You and your brother are in over your heads. Leviathan are _not_ nice enemies.” 

“Neither are you,” Sam said quietly. He glared bloody murder at the roses, which wilted on the spot. That made him feel a little better. “The solution is never ‘to let Lucifer in’. I fell for that once, I won’t fall for it again.” 

Lucifer opened his mouth to reply. Overhead the sunny sky had clouded over with dark rainclouds. 

“Get out of my dream,” Sam hissed. 

* 

Dean kept giving him a cold shoulder after the ‘there’s nothing wrong’-incident. Sam could tell Dean was waiting for him to blow a fuse and go stark raving mad. Sam couldn’t blame him for it, since he himself felt more and more insecure about his mental health. 

They met up with Bobby again for something seemingly normal and Leviathan-unrelated – just some mystery killings in the woods, possibly the ‘Jersey Devil’. Dean didn’t get the time to address Sam’s problems to Bobby in between being high on ‘Turducken’ Leviathan poison and all the stress from bringing Bobby to the hospital with a serious bullet wound. When Bobby finally pulled through – could really nothing kill the guy? – there had been too much emotions going round to bother him with any more worries. When they left Bobby in the hospital bed to recover, things were still visibly tense between them. 

What definitely didn’t help was Sam’s hallucinations getting worse and worse. He hadn’t seen Lucifer in his dreams anymore, but he was seeing all the more of hallucination-Lucifer during the day. He was becoming more prominent and invasive, and much harder to ignore. Sam had to carry through with his self-harm joke in the end, desperate for more leverage on his imaginary tormentor. 

Things rapidly went down-hill after the messy disaster with the demon-loving psychopathic killer – Jeffrey – which forced Sam to interact with Lucifer. As Lucifer was so happy to point out to him as he set fire to Sam’s bed, that interaction had given him “a much firmer grip” on his mind. Apparently, that meant a license to keep Sam awake by singing horrible pop songs and other attacks on his senses. 

Dean picked up on the insomnia during a hunt for three malicious witches. It was a routine job; angry witches trying to kill several poor people through spells – messy and with lots of bodily fluids – Sam and Dean rushing in to save the day. Sam had been tasked with killing the first two of the three witches while Dean was racing around town removing hex-bags and searching the remaining witch. After bursting through the basement door, Sam was startled by Dean’s mangled corpse lying on the concrete floor. It took him several valuable seconds to realize Dean was on the other end of town and this was merely another manifestation of his crazy. Dean’s corpse dutifully disappeared, but Sam ended up with a lot more bruises than he liked. 

Sam refused to kill the last witch because she had morphed into Jess. Dean shot her – she still looked like a monster to him – and gave Sam his patented ‘What the hell, dude’-look. 

“I’m having trouble sleeping, Dean. I’m exhausted, that’s all.” Even to his own ears that sounded weak, especially given his track-record on evasive answers. 

So Dean, knowing him, just shot him a stern older brother look, holstered his gun and said: “We’re going to Bobby, right now.” 

Lucifer chose that exact moment to drench the world in blood. Sam’s knees buckled and he desperately pushes in thumb at the angry red slash in his palm. Somewhere far-off he heard Dean shout his name, but it was drowned out by Lucifer’s laughing. Horrible visions of Jess in flames, Bobby’s broken and dead body on the floor and Dean with black eyes threatening to kill him flashed in front of his eyes. 

“Shut up!” He yelled at Lucifer, still clutching his hand. 

“Oooh –“ Lucifer crooned in response. “He talks to me!” He made a gesture like a flustered schoolgirl, theatrical and comical if it wasn’t for the blood still dripping along the walls. 

“I hate you,” Sam uttered with difficulty. The crazy flooded in from all sides, closing his eyes didn’t help anymore. His heart was hammering its way out of his ribcage. He found himself with the reassuringly cool surface of his gun in his hand. 

Dean. 

He had to find Dean, before he started shooting imaginary devils. 

He saw Dean walking backwards, but his face was all messed up. One side hung off, the flesh of his cheek flapping with the motion and revealing the glistening bone underneath. Sam tore his eyes away. He stared at the gun in his hands. Then he stared at the ground. Maggots and cockroaches crept around his knees, feasting on the human gore he was kneeling in. The Devil started singing ‘Stuck in the middle with you’ at the top of his lungs. 

“Snap out of it Sam, come on,” Sam muttered. He managed to put his gun away and pushed his thumb into his palm again. “You’re imagining this. It’s not real.” 

“CLOWNS TO THE LEFT OF ME…!” 

Something touched his shoulder. Dean stood there, maggots crawling in and out of his eye socket, hand hovering above Sam’s shoulder. His middle finger had fallen off and was currently sliding down Sam’s arm. 

“Sam…” Dean’s mouth was a gaping hole of rot. 

“…JOKERS TO THE RIGHT!” 

“ _Snap out of it, snap out of it, snap out of it_ ,” Sam rocked back and forth, hunched over his knees. 

“Sammy, snap out of it! Dammit!” 

“HERE I AM- “ Lucifer spun around madly in circles, arms outstretched like a dunk ballet dancer. 

“STUCK IN THE MIDDLE WITH YOU!” 

* 

“Dude, you are seriously _not_ ok,” Dean looked at him sternly in the rear-view mirror. Sam lay stiffly on the backseat of the Dodge they currently drove. Dean had half-dragged, half-carried him back to the car while he was still babbling incoherently about maggots and blood. They were en-route to Bobby, after Dean had driven them past the house to pick up their clothes. He never allowed Sam off the back seat to help him, constantly checking over his shoulder if his brother wasn’t going off his rocker again. 

“Go sleep,” he’d told Sam. Easily said for him, but the Devil hadn’t left Sam alone since the warehouse where they’d killed the last witch. He was working his way through ‘top 50 country song of all time’, upping the volume every time Sam’s eyes dared to droop. It was extremely loud and very much out of tune. Sam wondered if he would ever catch any sleep again. 

Six agonizing hours later they stood on Bobby’s living room carpet, although Sam looked more on the verge of collapsing than anything. Dean flexed his fingers, moved his feet around and looked generally exasperated that he couldn’t do anything for his brother. Meanwhile, Bobby paced around the room, looking at this book and that, occasionally pulling one out of the shelves only to set it back with a dissatisfied grunt. 

“What are you looking for?” Dean asked finally, his hands moving in and out of his pockets. 

“Something on demonic hallucinations.” Bobby turned around and seemed to really take in Sam’s state for the first time. “You look like shit boy. Go lie in the bed upstairs, I’ll fix you a tranquilizer to knock you right into tomorrow.” 

Dean followed Sam up the stairs, apparently prepared to catch him if he might stumble. 

“You should have told me it was getting worse.” Dean said. 

Sam wasn’t sure whether his brother was angry or upset or worried. Probably all of the above. 

“Sorry Dean, I didn’t realize it was this bad either.” He pushed into Bobby’s guest bedroom. It contained two narrow beds and a nearly empty wardrobe Bobby used as storage for obscure trinkets from the past. He kept all the useful hunting stuff downstairs. The wardrobe contained among others a cardboard box with a few toys from when they would have ‘sleep-overs’ at ‘Uncle Bobby’s’, a cheerful euphemism for hunter’s training with Bobby, although he did occasionally take pity. 

“Are you going to stand there watch me undress or do you have something useful to contribute?” Sam asked while pulling off his shirt. 

Dean scowled. “Sweet dreams, Samantha.” 

He backed out of the room and stomped down the stairs. He must have met Bobby there, because he entered not a moment later, just as Sam was crawling under the covers. In the corner, Lucifer had switched to ‘The final countdown’ at ear-splitting volume. 

“I’ve got the tranq for you,” Bobby said. “Just drink it, it’ll knock you out cold.” He handed Sam a chipped mug half-filled with clear liquid. 

“Thanks Bobby,” Sam said. He knocked back the drink and closed his eyes, not for one moment expecting it to work. 

The world reappeared as a softly flowing meadow overlooking a sparkling blue lake. It was another bright and warm day. Sam waited for the teletubbies to appear and was slightly disappointed when he only saw another wayward park bench. He sat down gingerly on it, vaguely expecting it to explode, and it hit him: the absence of sound. Not completely, he could still hear the rustling of wind in the grass and the waves down below, all the general peaceful nature sounds one would expect in a place like this. But no Lucifer, no music, no sudden loud noises. Sam cringed, expecting the eardrum-shattering torment to start over any moment, now that he’d discovered its temporary lapse of attention. 

Nothing happened. 

Nothing continued to happen for a while. Sam couldn’t exactly say how much time had passed. Time had gotten a slippery quality, and minutes might be hours or hours might be minutes. But it was nice and peaceful and Sam wasn’t complaining. 

Soft footsteps on the grass grew louder until a body settled next to him on the bench. Sam flexed his shoulders defensively. Now it would come… 

“Are you suffering from insomnia?” Lucifer asked softly, as if not to disturb the peaceful quality of the dream.” 

“Yes,” Sam answered testily. “And whose fault is that?” 

“Mine?” Lucifer ventured. He looked guilty and concerned, none of the usual gleefully mocking tone in his voice. “Does the idea of me out of the Cage still inspire such worry?” 

“Partly. But you singing ‘It’s Raining Men’ at three a.m. _did_ a lot more to keep me up.” Sam paused, then added maliciously, “You’ve got a horrible voice.” 

Lucifer seemed unfazed by the criticism of his vocal qualities. “You’re hallucinating it,” he said matter-of-factly. 

“Yes, thank you. Do you have more obvious information to contribute?” 

“I could help you, if you would accept my help.” 

“You? How?” Sam had begun to doubt the credibility of this Lucifer being real. He’d thought the Devil had been real during the day, why did he have more reason to trust this manifestation of his brain, just because it was friendlier? He said as much to Lucifer. 

Lucifer held up his hand as if swearing an oath. “I’m real, Sam. I don’t know whether this causes you more or less grief, but I am not some hallucination cooked up by your battered soul. I swear on…” Lucifer’s eyes trailed off. “I swear on the father who I hate that I am truly the archangel Lucifer.” 

Sam didn’t know whether to laugh, cry or have a panic attack. He had tossed and turned and never _truly_ believed this wasn’t all more than just another sick trick of his mind. Yes, he might’ve believed it the first few weeks, and even worried about Lucifer escaping the Cage, but when his hallucinations had taken a turn for the worse he hadn’t believed it anymore. 

Meanwhile, his body settled for laughing hysterically and uncontrollably – he was about five seconds from hyperventilating his way into a panic attack. 

“How do you propose to help me?” Sam wheezed. He fought to get his breathing under control again; in through the nose, out through the mouth, _slowly_. It was a dream, nothing would happen if he didn’t make any deals and just woke up. 

“If you summon me – “ 

Sam relapsed into violent coughing. “No. No, no, no. No freaking way,” he spluttered. “Don’t even think about it.” 

Lucifer sighed and patted him on the back. “Listen Sammy,” he said. Sam didn’t even object to the pet name, still awed by the thought that this was really Lucifer. 

“Let me finish before you protest, because you won’t like what I’m going to say,” Lucifer continued. He was still rubbing soothing circles on Sam’s back, whose breathing was oddly calmed down by that. “I’ve suffered considerably damage in the Cage. I need _your_ body to heal, before I can construct my own vessel –“ He stopped when he saw Sam’s expression of disbelief. “What? I’m an Archangel, I can bend space and time, surely you’ll believe I can put some molecules together and make it human-shaped?” 

Sam still looked pointedly at him. 

“Oh.” Realized dawned on Lucifer’s face. He took his hand back. “Nick was only a temporary measure. It’s takes up energy to keep a constructed body together, it’s like having to constantly think about your clothes or you’ll end up naked. Inhabiting my true vessel would have given me the freedom to use my power to the fullest extent; I needed that to battle Michael, I don’t need it anymore now. I doubt anything on earth is strong enough to require the full force of my grace.” 

“You have a habit of underestimating us things on earth,” Sam couldn’t help himself to point out. This was getting more absurd by the minute. And he was still saying no, wasn’t he? 

“I believe you’ve taught me that more force doesn’t always outweigh the merits of willpower and wits,” Lucifer smiled. “I can help you Sammy. In return for borrowing your body I will fix it and your soul.” 

“You can do that? Not even Death could fix my soul.” 

“Death is destruction. I’m an angel, our grace is rooted in creation. I can fix your soul.” 

Sam stared out over the blue water for a while. He recalled the torment he had momentarily escaped. How long did he expect to last without help? Did he trust Bobby and Dean to find something against soul-hallucinations? He thought he could be pretty sure he was a one of a kind case. 

“Can’t you help me from here? I’m done making deals with anyone.” Sam knew he was grasping at straws here. 

Lucifer sighed, of course recognizing Sam’s desperation for what it was. “Without me, the hallucinations will probably kill you sooner than later; the human body can go only so long without sleep.” He looked Sam sternly in the eye. It was a particularly piercing stare. Sam squirmed. 

If this didn’t work out, he could always add it to his growing collection of very-poor-decisions. Dean would chew him out if – no, when – he found out, but he could live with that. As for the world and the integrity of his body – 

“You’re only allowed to ride along in the backseat.” 

Lucifer’s eyes began to twinkle, a smile tugged at his mouth. 

“You’re not to take me over, no unleashing the Apocalypse or wiping out the human race, no tricks and no loopholes.” 

“I can’t take over even if it’s a matter if life and death?” Lucifer asked. 

“No,” Sam said resolutely. Then he reconsidered this. “Only if I’m already unconscious and it’s definitely life-threatening. I don’t trust you not to take advantage of this otherwise.” 

“I can live with that, I think.” Lucifer stuck out his hand. “I’m not Crowley, so no kissing. Deal?” 

Sam grabbed his hand. Lucifer continued with explaining the summoning ritual to him. Around them the telly-tubby-world remained peaceful and sunny. 

* 

Sam knew he had to be fast and quiet about summoning Lucifer. Dean wouldn’t let them leave Bobby’s until Sam could sleep without tranquilizers – which meant never, if he didn’t get a chance to summon the _real_ Lucifer. Since he’d woken up – a process that had included staring groggily at the ceiling trying to remember what day and age it was and why couldn’t he recall his bloody name? – Sam had been sneaking around to house collecting the ingredients for the spell. It turned out to be a fairly standard summoning spell, only tweaked slightly to reach specifically into the Cage and _pull_. Sam was relieved it didn’t involve any messy livestock and/or patricide. Bobby had plenty of spell-material lying around the house for the more every-day-spells (when had spells become everyday business? Sam wondered) and with Dean and Bobby still searching frantically for an anti-demonic-hallucinations-pill Sam had plenty of room to move around the house. Or at least as quietly as hallucination-Lucifer would permit him to. 

Fake-Lucifer was growing more invasive by the hour, as if Sam’s problems sensed they were soon to be exterminated. He had shifted tactics from singing to making loud noises – megaphones, sirens, pneumatic drills – at the most unexpected moments. Sam nearly dropped the antique spell bowl at a particularly loud air horn and another time almost fallen backwards off the stairs from unexpected gun shots. At the end of the day his nerves were completely frayed. 

Therefore he didn’t need to act in the least to look relieved when Bobby brought him that night’s dose of tranquilizer. But despite having had the whole day to think about an excuse why he wouldn’t take them immediately, the only thing that came out of his mouth was: 

“Just leave it on the nightstand, I’m going to read a bit first.” 

Bobby looked at him as if that was the craziest thing he’d heard all day, but nevertheless set down the mug and grunted goodnight. In the doorway he turned around and said: “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do, son.” Well, if Bobby made deals with Crowley, wasn’t this as good as permission? 

Sam counted till ten before he slipped out of bed and pulled the already prepared from under the bed. He kneeled by the tablecloth with the bowl and candles. His hands trembled as he lighted the candles. “What if it doesn’t work?” He mumbled. _What if it does?_ The voice in the back of his mind supplied. What if he ended up unleashing the Apocalypse? _Again_. 

A vuvuzela trumpeted next to his ear. He jumped, shaken out of his thoughts and immediately convinced that, damn the consequences, he had to carry through with this. 

Sam slid the knife over his palm and whispered the chants when the first drop his the contents of the bowl. After about six drops of blood and the ten lines of chant, absolutely nothing happened. His hand stung, Lucifer still tried to wring a song out of the vuvuzela and it sounded like Dean and Bobby were striking up an argument downstairs. Fragments about how they “Couldn’t keep my brother on sleeping pills forever” and that “I’ve looked in every damn book twice, you idjit!” drifted upstairs. Sam closed his eyes and exhaled. He didn’t know what he’d been expecting, but this wasn’t it. He pushed his hair out of his face and sat back on his heels. Maybe – 

The light hit him like a freight train on amphetamines. Suddenly everything was illuminated and Sam was hyper-aware of even the smallest hairs in the dusty carpet, the particles of the peeling wallpaper glue. _Everything_. He gasped for breath, sucking much needed oxygen into his lungs that seemed too big and too small at the same time. Time took on that weird slippery quality again. For an infinite moment he was suspended in reality. 

When he exhaled he felt something – _wings_ – fold up and into his body. The world slowly came back from its high as Sam’s senses were restored to the usual five. He didn’t remember much about the first time Lucifer had possessed his body; just flashes of rage and fear mixed with this overwhelming, freezing white light. Now he distinctly felt a cold energy pulse along his spine. 

_Hello Sammy_ ¸ Lucifer’s voice said inside his head. It sounded like Nick’s voice, just more, ethereal or something. Like it had the power of the universe behind it. 

The cold feeling settled somewhere between his shoulder blades. It reminded Sam of a big cat snuggling up against him, all lazy contentment. 

Hallucination-Lucifer – having apparently been momentarily blown away by the force of the spell – popped back into existence and leered at Sam. 

“You’re cheating, Sammy,” he pouted. “Not fair.” 

_That’s downright disturbing_ , Lucifer commented as his copy disappeared. _Your hallucinations have been temporarily fixed. Patching up your soul permanently will require more time_. 

Sam let go of another shaky breath he hadn’t been aware he was holding. Having Lucifer this close actually felt comforting. He stood up and disposed the evidence of the summoning. Better not tell Dean about it for a while. Then he threw the contents of the mug out of the window onto the dusty ground below and climbed into bed again. _Silence_. He closed his eyes and sleep came immediately and dreamlessly. 


	2. Chapter 2

“You’re shitting me,” was Dean’s first and apparently only reaction to Sam telling him the joyful news of the disappeared hallucinations. He had altered the story slightly, of course, faking surprise and telling them that the tranquilizers must have knocked something back in place again. 

“Sam, this is probably a trick,” Dean frowned. “You know it’s a trick, right?” 

“It might be,” Sam admitted – Lucifer positively _sniggered_ at the back of his brain. “But I believe we should take advantage of it for as long as it lasts. The Leviathan won’t wait, and Bobby can keep looking for a long-term solution until the hallucinations start again.” 

“I’m not going to take you hunting. You were on the verge of dying about, oh, _twelve hours ago_.” 

“And now I’m fine.” 

“No you’re not.” 

“Yes I am.” 

Bobby was keeping himself firmly out of the discussion. He stood to the side, wearing a frown on his face and looking from Dean to Sam. They were running through the same old arguments again; Dean the protective big brother, Sam confident about being right but not telling the whole story. The phone rang. Bobby gave up on listening and went to answer it. 

“Hey, you idjits!” He called from the kitchen. “Stop bickering like a married couple and listen to this:” 

A new faith healer had appeared in Colorado, so far without any obvious consequences for the well-being of other people in his vicinity. The hunter calling Bobby about it wasn’t on location, but thought somebody should go check it out. If it was the genuine thing, it might even be handy to recruit the man into the hunter’s network. Bobby assured him he would send someone over. 

“I’ll go, Sammy stays here,” Dean said immediately. 

Sam pursed his lips. “I can help, Dean. Remember the last faith healer who nearly killed you?” 

“No thanks to you, you were the one who brought me there in the first place,” Dean replied. 

Bobby groaned. “Did any of you consider that if he _is_ the genuine thing he might be able to cure Sam?” 

Sam and Dean stared at each other. Slowly, Dean said, “If he is, I’ll bring him here.” 

“And if he doesn’t want to be hauled across the country?” Bobby asked, lifting his eyebrows in a meaningful gesture. 

Dean squirmed. He was obviously losing this. In true Dean-fashion, he coped in the only way he knew. 

“Fine. Fine!” He roughly turned around and stomped towards the door. “You coming Sam?” 

Sam shot a silent look of thanks to Bobby and followed his brother. 

The faith healer was the genuine article, if only because he turned out to be their long-lost pet angel. Sam kept himself to the background and watched Dean go through surprise, relief, resentment, anger and something closely resembling heartbreak all at the same time. 

_You have to do something before he explodes from all those repressed emotions_ , Lucifer supplied with a hint of a snicker. Sam thought he was more likely having to step in before they stood there until the sun had set. 

_Do you think he can see you?_ Sam asked. He’d feared this from the moment he’d laid eyes on the faith healer, but so far Castiel had had only eyes for Dean. Dean who had been able to restore the angel’s memories with as much as a well-aimed punch and a spluttered apology. 

_Not if he doesn’t know where to look_ , Lucifer said. He didn’t offer any further explanation. 

Castiel was the first to speak. He apologized. Dean shrugged his shoulders. 

Sam waited for them to fall into each other’s arms or something, but nothing happened. He broke the more than a little awkward silence with a cough. It got him the full force stare of both angel and brother. 

“Might we… uhm… get on the road again?” He gestured in the general direction of the Dodge. “I don’t think we have any more business here.” 

That shook Dean out of his Castiel-induced trance. “Yeah, let’s go,” he muttered. He took a few steps, then remembered their whole reason for coming. “Cas, can you take a look at Sam? He’s been suffering from hallucinations since you broke the wall in his head.” 

He _did?_ Lucifer asked. Sam felt a flare of anger that was definitely not his own. 

Castiel approached Sam with a frown. “I apologize for the hurt I have caused you.” He looked with that 1000-watt stare at him, then raised two fingers to touch them to Sam’s temple. Sam squirmed, but believed Lucifer’s reassuring words. The presence of him in his mind shrank back. 

The outcry of surprise Sam expected at any moment didn’t come. Castiel removed his fingers from Sam’s temple and said: “I believe he is in good condition.” 

Dean exhaled audibly and shot Sam an apologetic look. Sam shrugged. He was still too stunned by not being discovered to tell Dean “I told you so”. 

* 

Although they had found Castiel, that didn’t mean he was now their big back-up at hunts again. Castiel had stated he needed to sort out some angelic business – most likely having to do with hiding from heaven and finding out if he had any friends left. Dean didn’t seem too happy with that, but Sam figured it would never be different; every time it seemed like they would catch a break there would just be another thing eating up the angel’s time. 

Meanwhile, being possessed by Lucifer turned out to be an unexpected pro. The Archangel didn’t need Sam’s senses to perceive the outside world and saved his life, or at least some bones, on more than one occasion by helpful comments like ‘duck’ and ‘behind you’. Sam tried to get hit at least once or twice in a while, just to prevent Dean from getting suspicious. 

So far it was all working out. 

About three weeks after Lucifer moved in and had started patching up Sam’s soul – Sam could measure the health of his soul from the tension draining out of his shoulders – Sam and Dean were working a job in Marshfield, Massachusetts. Three men had been found bloated and with water in their lungs on the beach. It was such a small town that three corpses in one month was definitely more than their regular share of deaths. The thing that had caught their attention though was how all men had appeared to have walked into sea themselves – no sign of abduction or force – and how all their wives had accused them of being ‘lying, cheating bastards’. 

“I have no idea,” Sam complained. There were squatting in an abandoned summer house on the coast. He’d been staring at his laptop for ages, but nothing turned up on mysterious drowning. 

“Call Bobby,” Dean suggested. “I’m going out to get dinner.” 

Sam waited until he heard the car pull out of the garage. 

“What do you reckon?” He muttered. He briefly heard the rustling of feathers. 

_About what?_ Lucifer’s voice sounded gravelly, like he had been busy and was annoyed to be disturbed. 

“This… case.” Sam gestured toward the photos on the table and the webpage open on his computer, even though he knew the gesture to be completely unnecessary. 

_You don’t have to use your mouth to talk to me_ . 

Definitely cranky, Sam thought. 

_I’m not. You’re looking for a selkie._

“A what?” Sam asked. Damn it if he was going to think really loud, it made him feel like an idiot. 

A new page popped up on his screen. He muttered a “thanks” and set to reading. 

Selkies were a species of Irish wereanimals, seals turning into beautiful women by shedding their skin. The lore – which differed greatly depending on which regional variety you believed – made mention of selkies seducing men into the sea and drowning them, which fit the dead bodies on the shore. Regrettably it didn’t say anything on how to kill them. 

* 

Sam explained the situation to Dean over his salad. 

“So they’re like sirens?” Dean sprayed bits of bread and meat around. 

“No Dean – didn’t you listen?” Sam repeated his explanation of selkies, stressing on how they _didn’t make anyone commit murder_ and were _probably not venomous._

“That the first didn’t happen doesn’t mean it won’t in the future and the second hasn’t been confirmed. So, they’re like sirens.” 

“Fine,” Sam frowned. “Sirens. We still have no clue how to kill them.” 

“Did you call Bobby?” Dean asked. 

Sam paled. He should have, just so he didn’t get this kind of awkward questions afterwards. 

_Burn their skin_ , Lucifer helpfully supplied. He felt smug. Bastard, Sam thought. He didn’t care if the Devil could hear him, he could have mentioned that way earlier. 

“Yeah,” Sam stuttered. “He didn’t know. But he said to look for their skin. Apparently their magic is bound to those. Maybe their life is as well?” 

“Mh.” Dean frowned at his hamburger before taking an extra vicious bite. 

* 

Treasure hunting for a selkie’s skin wasn’t exactly a walk in the park. They had to wait for it to crawl out of the sea – not too hard once they’d identified its preferred type of male, namely the married family man – and find out where it had hid its skin along the coast. At least, the lore said it would be along the coast. Sadly, this part of the New England coast was long and flat and filled with summer houses. Not to mention the marshes in between where the rivers emptied into the sea. Searching for a skin was a pain in the ass and meanwhile two more men were found drowned. 

Dean looked pale and on edge. This was a high death toll even for them. 

_How did you guys ever stop the Apocalypse?_ Lucifer wondered idly while Sam hiked along the Marshfield coast. He and Dean had split up to more effectively search the strip of beach that seemed to be the center of selkie-activity. 

“Shut up,” Sam said under his breath. He didn’t need Lucifer to monologue him out of his concentration. 

_I mean, I’ve seen you do – what was the word? Oh yes – ‘salt-and-burns’. But really, any child with two brain cells to rub together can do_ those _._ Lucifer snorted, which produced a very interesting mental sound. 

“Then tell me where the skin is or shut it.” Sam was cold, tired and not in the mood. 

A patch of non-descript rock lit up briefly. Great, Archangels came with visual special effects. Sam took his cellphone out of his pocket and dialed Dean’s number. He wasn’t going to deny his brother the pleasure of setting fire to something. 

“I found the skin, it’s on a rock near the mouth of the river.” 

It took Dean ten minutes to get the car to that specific piece of rock. 

“How did you find it?” He asked while strapping on the flamethrower. Leave it to Dean to bring out the seriously overpowered stuff. 

“Just lucky, I guess. It blends in really well.” Sam had checked that the skin was in fact there, but hadn’t lingered just in case the selkie came back early. He now understood why they hadn’t found it earlier; it was a slick dark brown like the rocks it was hidden between. 

“Well, let’s torch this bitch.” 

They never got to torch anything. The words hadn’t left Dean’s mouth yet or he was tackled from behind by a very angry dark-haired lady. Sam immediately jumped on her back to drag her off, while Dean tried to turn and work the flamethrower. He couldn’t use it without threatening to burn Sam too. Dean cursed. 

Sam wrestled the selkie off his brother, but she was wet and slippery and he couldn’t hold on to her. She jumped backwards and extended some nasty-looking claws. Dean aimed the nozzle of the flamethrower at her, but no flames came out. She’d sliced through the pipe and liquid was leaking out over Dean’s back at an alarming rate. The selkie jumped away again, making a dash for the rocks where her skin lay. 

“Stop her!” Dean yelled. Sam had already begun the pursuit. He tackled the selkie to the ground and got a grip on the skimpy shirt she was wearing. Dean had managed to wrestle the flamethrower off and ran towards Sam and the selkie with a back-up can of gasoline and a lighter. 

_Watch it!_

The cheap material of the selkie’s shirt ripped and she twisted free. First she slashed outwards and hit Dean in his knee, making him crash into the ground. Then she turned towards Sam who hadn’t had the time to back away far enough and buried her claws in his chest. The weight and the pain pushed him backwards into the sand. 

“SAM!” he heard Dean shout before he blacked out. 

The selkie screamed. White flame erupted from Sam’s chest and ate away at her claws. Sam’s body stood up with the selkie still stuck in his chest, but Sam wasn’t home. He gripped the selkie’s wrists and threw her in the sand. The holes in his chest knitted together in seconds. The selkie was too busy grasping her crispy claws to put up a defense. 

Sam picked up the gas and lighter from a very surprised Dean, then strolled towards the selkie skin and set fire to it. 

“What the hell, dude?” Dean had found out how to talk again. He pushed himself upright and stared accusingly at ‘Sam’. “Who are you and what did you do to my brother?” 

“I think Sam needs to tell you that,” ‘Sam’ said. His voice had an unnatural smooth quality and Dean felt shudders of recognition race up his spine. But before he could voice his thoughts the stiffness disappeared from Sam’s muscles and his brother stumbled. Dean caught Sam out of pure big brother reflex. 

He lowered Sam to the ground and splashed some holy water in his face. 

“Very funny, Dean,” Sam managed to croak out. 

Dean pulled out his gun next and aimed it at him. “You’re being possessed, I’m not taking any chances.” 

Sam looked up at him, expression hurt and tired. “Killing me won’t help, I think.” 

* 

“Cas, get down here, pronto. Amen,” Dean growled as soon as he had instructed Sam to stay put on the couch. Sam felt drained, his chest hurt and he wasn’t in the mood to argue with Dean. He’d tried to convince Dean that he was himself, but Dean wasn’t having it. Then he tried to get from Lucifer what the hell happened, but Lucifer remained silent. He was there, Sam could still feel the cold rub between his shoulder blades, though it felt diminished. 

_Please_ , Sam pleaded while Dean was waiting for Castiel to show up. He wasn’t exactly sure what he was asking for. 

_I’m sorry Sam,_ Lucifer said. Relief shot through Sam and he sagged a little deeper into the couch. _It took more than I expected to pull you from the brink of death._ Sam felt his irritation radiate through his body. _I am considerably weaker than I thought._

_Thank you_ , Sam whispered. 

_It’s not so bad to have an archangel riding in the back-seat, huh?_ Lucifer quipped, but it didn’t sound like his heart was in in. Instead he sounded faint and tired. 

Castiel manifested right beside Dean, making him jump about two feet into the air. He didn’t even make a comment about personal space, just directed Castiel towards Sam. 

“But I already checked, Dean, there’s nothing wrong with your brother,” Castiel protested as he was literally shoved towards the couch. 

“Then check again,” was Dean’s bitten-off answer. 

Castiel sighed, used to Dean’s headstrong attitude from his prolonged exposure to the Winchesters. He bowed over Sam and pushed his fingers against his temple. This time though, his eyes did widen in surprise and he leaped back as if burned. 

“I’m sorry, I meant to-“ Sam started. 

“No,” Dean said. “You’re not my brother, I won’t listen to you. Cas?” 

Castiel shook his head, still struck dumb with fear. Even though emotions didn’t register strongly on his face he was obviously shaken. “It’s –“ He stilled, cocking his head as if to rethink his words. “I think it’s still Sam, otherwise I would have perceived this – _his_ – presence from miles away. Everyone would have.” 

Dean frowned, confused. He was missing a big point here. 

Castiel finally picked up on it. “It’s ah – Lucifer, returned from the Cage.” The angel had obvious difficulty with pronouncing the Devil’s name again. 

Sam had expected rage, or fear, of indignation, _any_ kind of outburst really short of joy from Dean – and he had even considered joy in the mirthless and at-his-expense kind – but not this. Not Dean absolutely freezing, all color draining out of his face. He didn’t even move to protest. He was truly, completely petrified. 

Seconds passed. Outside a car honked. Dean slowly recovered his senses. His jaw worked, no words coming out yet. Finally he managed: 

“You.” It seemed to encompass everything all at once: all the rage and fear and betrayal and “you-are-a-complete-and-utter-idiot” aimed at both Sam and Lucifer. 

Dean turned around resolutely and stomped out of the motel room. Castiel made an apologetic shoulder shrug towards Sam – a jerky and uncomfortable motion – and caught the door before it could slam into the frame. 

Left alone, Sam didn’t know whether to consider this a good or a bad outcome. It had to be determined later, it seemed. 

* 

Later was about ten minutes into the future when Dean found out he’d left the car keys on the table. Sam was busy holding a conversation with Lucifer, his own side all “when do you think you leave?” and Lucifer nothing but “I-don’t-knows”. 

_Soon_ , the Devil said and Sam had to be content with that because Dean made his reappearance, Cas close on his heel. 

“Okay, so-“ Dean rubbed his neck. Castiel gave him a pointed look. Those two had obviously already discussed this outside. 

“So, Lucifer is riding shotgun, right? And so far he’s done nothing but behave himself and save you?” 

Sam nodded. 

“How do you know he won’t still use you to unleash the Apocalypse once he’s healed?” 

“I don’t,” Sam replied. He felt calm, now that the big secret was out. Keeping secrets from Dean had never been wise or easy. “I would say I trust him, but that’s not true. But I _needed_ him, Dean, or I might’ve died. We’ve done stupid things to cheat death before, haven’t we?” 

Dean seemed to consider that, briefly. He opened his mouth to protest, ever the hypocrite in these matters, but Castiel cut him off. 

“I think Sam made the right decision. Even weakened, Lucifer is still more than able to seize control over Sam as a vessel. That he hasn’t done so provides grounds for a slightly positive outlook.” 

“I still don’t trust him one bit,” Dean said, and with that the matter seemed concluded - at least for now. 

While Dean made himself busy cleaning the guns, Castiel sat down next to Sam. 

“What are Lucifer’s reasons?” he asked in a hushed voice. 

Sam explained about Michael in the Cage and Lucifer’s tentative grasp of the idea that ‘not hurting Sam’ went further than ‘not physically hurting Sam’. 

Castiel nodded. “I think I understand. We are made to love, after all.” On that cryptic note he stood up, looked Sam straight in the eye – a look going further than Sam, a look that said “don’t you dare hurt them or else” – and vanished in a rush of feathers. 

_That went well, all things considered_ , Sam muttered half under his breath, half in his head. 

The only reply he received was a casual, slightly tired shrug between his shoulder blades. Sam left the tired Archangel to himself and grabbed his laptop. He was determined to make the most of Dean’s quiet mood and finally get some useful research on Leviathan. 

* 

Lucifer had taken a renewed fancy to appearing in his dreams. Sam took this as a good sign, meaning the angel was gathering strength. On the downside, it frequently meant that he was holding long and intense conversations in his already limited sleeping time and as a result suffered from a sleepy mind in an otherwise rested body. 

Most of it was overcome by Lucifer’s still helpful hints about his surroundings, but he didn’t need to make an effort to get hit anymore – he was getting hit plenty, thank you. 

_That’s because you don’t watch out,_ Lucifer snickered after a week of Sam complaining about various scrapes and bruises. _I can either heal your soul or heal your body, not both. Got to make choices here, Sam._

“My soul,” Sam grumbled back. 

“What did you say?” Dean had refused to speak to – or even look at – him the first day after the big secret came out. Sam knew Castiel had been around a few times and worked on Dean to stifle his anger. Behind his back, yes, but he admitted he needed all help he could get. Afterwards the silence was at least broken, although Dean still acted cold. At least he hadn’t been hit in the face this time. 

_I’d have liked to see him try,_ Lucifer had answered to that particular thought. _Finally an excuse to hit the great Dean Winchester._

Sam hadn’t particularly enjoyed that comment and ignored Lucifer until he said sorry. 

Yeah, he could do that now. Make _The Devil_ apologize. 

Dean still looked expectantly at him. 

“What did you say?” Sam asked, confused. 

“Never mind,” Dean muttered. He turned around, then turned back towards Sam again. “I’m going to get some beer. Want some?” 

Sam nodded. That was another thing: Dean had become so careful, asking his permission for everything. 

“You know I always like a beer,” he told Dean as he was shrugging on his coat. 

He didn’t get a reply. 

_Sam_ . Something poked – quite literally – against his upper spine for attention. 

“Yeah?” 

_Do you want me out of here?_ If he didn’t know better, that sounded wounded. 

“Not if that means I’ll die, no.” He tried to keep his tone light. 

Silence. Sam scraped his mental throat. _Yes, I’d like you out of my body eventually. As soon as my soul is healed, in fact. Were you beginning to have doubts about keeping our agreement?_

_It’s comfy in here._ Now _that_ was a flat out whine. 

Sam put his laptop down on the floor – he hadn’t been reading the last ten minutes or so anyway – and said gruffly: “Well I don’t care. It’s _my_ body and I really want you to leave it as soon as you’re done. Go make yourself a new comfy body.” 

He realized a little on the late side that aggravating Lucifer might not be the smartest route to take. The Devil appeared to have lost his claws though, because the silent agreement radiated by the cold was everything but aggressive. 

Eventually Dean came back, without beer but with a bedraggled looking Castiel. 

_They really are like magnets,_ Lucifer remarked, argument forgotten or stuffed away. 

“What’s wrong?” Sam asked when he saw the look of silent thunder on Dean’s face. 

Dean jerked his thumb over his shoulder, indicating that Castiel should do the talking today. 

“There’s a major outbreak of Leviathan activity. It seems they are putting some kind of… of plan into motion. They are moving around frantically, infiltrating increasingly bigger corporations.” Castiel paused to look at Dean, but he had his back to them milling around in the fridge. Sam wanted to point out there was no alcohol left in the house, but decided to shut up. “The center of activity is a big health organization, but it’s a subsidiary of Sugrocorp. They might be trying something medical.” 

Sam wanted to applaud or kiss the angel. This was more information than they had gathered since they found out about Dick Roman. He told Castiel so. 

“Well fantastic,” Dean said in a voice that just dripped sarcasm. He had finally turned away from the fridge – empty-handed of course. 

“What, Dean? I’m pretty glad we finally got some information.” 

“Yes, well, me too. Only I would’ve liked it to not be so fucking grim.” Dean saw that Sam wasn’t following. “Medical business, Sam? What happened the last time someone took over a medical company, huh? Ask your new best friend, go on.” 

“Croatoan?” Sam whispered, as much to himself as to Dean. 

_I don’t think the Leviathan would go for Croatoan._

“Wait,” Sam said. “Lucifer says-“ 

“I don’t _care_ what Lucifer says!” Dean nearly stomped his feet. “I’m going to bed. Goodnight.” 

Before Sam could open his mouth again, both Dean and Castiel had disappeared from the room. 

“Great,” he muttered. “Why do you think it won’t be Croatoan?” 

_They eat humans. It would be counterproductive for them to unleash a drug that would make humans active, aggressive and kill each other._ Lucifer thought about it. Sam could nearly feel his brows come together – never mind that he didn’t have brows at the moment. _I’m guessing they would want to do exactly the opposite; make humans docile and happy – easy prey. But I don’t know any viruses that would do that._

Docile. Happy. High? 

“Turducken!” Sam exclaimed. He beat his fist in his hand and sprang up from the couch. Was it a good idea to tell Dean now? Oh what the hell, this couldn’t wait until Dean came out of his sulky mood. 

All the while he ran upstairs he could feel Lucifer sifting confusedly through his memory until Sam, panting in front of Dean’s door, shoved the right one at him. Grey goo dripping out of hamburgers and Dean in happy mental state. 

Sam didn’t even knock, just barged in. 

“It’s turducken!” he said, still panting a little. 

It stayed silent for a beat. Castiel frowned, his mouth hanging slightly open. It was the familiar angelic version of “I have no fucking clue what you’re talking about”. Dean’s expression went from upset to hopeful to upset again. 

At last he said: “Does this mean we finally stand a chance of stopping them?” immediately followed by Castiel’s “What is a turducken?”. 

After a brief break to explain the angel their adventures with innovative American fast food chains, Sam answered Dean’s question. 

“At least we know what they’re doing now, right?” 

“Yes but…” Dean threw a sideways glance at Castiel. “We still have to stop them from doing it, and as far as we know, they’re still the only monsters in the universe completely un-killable.” 

_That’s not true_ , Lucifer piped in. 

_Shut it,_ Sam said. He didn’t want to hear about how they failed to kill the Devil too, so far. 

“We might be able to chop all their heads off – “ Dean went on. 

_Sam, listen, I am trying to tell you they’re not –_

“Shut up,” Sam hissed. Dean scowled at him. 

_– un-killable._

_What?!_ Sam shouted internally. 

“– and stick them all in cement,” Dean finished lamely. “What?” He asked, misinterpreting Sam’s bewildered expression. “We’ve had worse plans. Remember –“ 

Sam tuned him out. _How do you know? And more importantly, why didn’t you tell me this earlier?!_

Lucifer did a good impression of a shoulderless shrug. _It was on one of the websites you were reading. I assumed you had read it too._

_What, about the angels wielding a blade of fire to crush the heads of the Leviathan?_

_Ding, ding, ding – ten points for Sammy._

_I thought that was a simple myth…_ _Stop snickering, I can hear you, you know!_

Sam passed on the information to his brother. Dean didn’t believe a word of it, as he put it. He demanded to be shown the evidence, so Sam pulled open his laptop and scanned his history for the obscure website. It did, indeed, mention that the great beast Leviathan would be slain at the end of times by the Archangel Gabriel wielding a flaming sword, albeit in more fancy and fantastical terms. The bad typography and creatively colored links had led to Sam discarding the site as another woolly amateur Christian blog declaring to have the one true truth. 

“You shouldn’t believe everything you read on the internet,” Dean grumbled. 

“We usually believe what’s written on the internet,” Sam pointed out. 

“I foresee a problem, Dean,” Castiel said. They turned to where he had quietly shuffled up behind them. “Gabriel is dead.” 

They all paused at that. Gabriel might not have been their best friend – hell, he’d done more than his best to torment them sometimes – but he _had_ turned, however reluctantly, to their side and then… 

_Are you sorry yet you killed him?_ Sam asked his lodger quite maliciously. Right when things seemed to be looking up there was another hitch in the road. They really couldn’t catch a break. 

_I will eternally regret having had to kill my brother, Sam. Do not mock me._ Lucifer’s voice had taken on a glacial quality. So did the temperature between Sam’s shoulder blades. He shivered. 

“So they’re still immortal? Great.” Dean rubbed his face; another hope to be added to the ‘violently crushed’-list. 

_Nothing is immortal._

“Nothing is immortal,” Sam repeated to the outside world. He felt like a ventriloquist’s dummy. But now was not the moment to argue with the Devil any further, lest he decided to annul their agreement and take over his body anyway. 

Dean lifted his head. “Yeah? What about God?” Castiel went from shuffling on the carpet to a very good imitation of a granite statue. 

_Our Father is just like every other deity you encountered. When Christianity fades, even He becomes mortal._

“I don’t know,” Sam resolved diplomatically. From the corner of his eye he caught Castiel releasing his breath and slumping back into humanity. 

_He will have to know eventually._

_Today is not that day._ Sam paused. _You wouldn’t have told me about that website if we couldn’t use it. What’s the alternative?_

Dean and Castiel were having a hushed conversation about ways to stop people from eating turducken. Dean decided to tell Bobby and see if he had any ideas. They left the room together, Dean taking out his phone and Castiel following on his heel. 

_Gabriel may be dead, but his sword still exists in this world,_ Lucifer answered. _I don’t think he used it the past millennia. Any Archangel can wield that sword._

_Where do we find it?_ Sam had visions of having to search the bottom of the sea for the thing. He might have an angel along, but he didn’t think he would survive an airless trip underwater. 

_You would, but that’s not the point,_ Lucifer interrupted him. _It’s not on the bottom of the sea. It’s in the vault of the late Balthazar, who was so kind as to take a nice collection of weapons out of the strongholds of Heaven._

_I’m not even going to ask how you know that,_ Sam sighed. _Can we get to it?_

_Yes, easily. Castiel could get it for us._

Sam twitched. It was never this easy. Not with Lucifer, not with monsters, not in the daily life of a Winchester. 

“What’s the catch?” He murmured. But he wouldn’t be getting an answer soon, because Dean reentered calling for Sam to pack his bag. 

“We’re going to Bobby’s, he wants to see us _right now you idjits_ about Leviathan, the universe and everything I suppose. He was too busy shouting at me to understand what exactly he wanted to talk about.” He shrugged. “Castiel, you coming with us?” 

“I will meet you at the scrap yard,” Castiel replied before vanishing in a rush of feathers. 

Dean cocked his head and made a sour face. “That’ll leave the three of us for the road trip then.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When I reread this today I was briefly worried that New England (Marshfield's a real place btw and everything I know about it was based on Google maps, Wikipedia and the Marshfield website. If anyone happens to live (near) Marshfield, don't hesitate to correct me on things) wouldn't be a very convincing place for Sam and Dean to be. After some digging I found a map of dubious origin that said they (or at least the show) had been there, so I think it's alright~. Basically, I needed an Irish coastal town to situate the selkie story and since I don't know a thing about the US I just did a Google and ran with it, details be damned.
> 
> I don't know if the proper plural of Leviathan is Leviathan or Leviathans. I think I heard them use the first on the show, but after reading up on the Supernatural Wiki and seeing how they use the latter I'm not so convinced anymore. Anyway, for continuity's sake I'm sticking with the former. 
> 
> To finish this embarrassingly long end note, this was the last part sitting on my computer. I think I'll need another chapter to finish, but since I still have to write it, it'll take a bit longer to post. Real Life and University, you know, sucking up all my time. I'm also still trying to figure out how to work a higher rating into this. 
> 
> Come say hi to me on tumblr! - http://proxykiwi.tumblr.com - and come kick me if I'm writing too slow ;)

**Author's Note:**

> you're free to kick me if the updates are too slow ;) come say hi on tumblr ~ proxykiwi.tumblr.com


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